


Breathe Again

by wordjunket



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (a few rabbits get killed), Alpha Derek, Alternating POV... kinda, Angst, Animal Death, Derek POV, Derek's Pack - Freeform, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mate bonds, Mates, Mostly background relationships tbh, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Slow Burn, Stiles POV, Temporary Character Death, abuse of fairy tales, alpha mates, ambiguous time line, wolf behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-31 12:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12132051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordjunket/pseuds/wordjunket
Summary: It's summer, and the pack has returned to Beacon Hills. As Stiles and Derek grow closer, an elusive scent drives the wolves mad and no amount of Google-fu is going to help them this time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into the Teen Wolf fandom. I've had this kinda idea rattling around in my head for a while, only to have these two dorks claim it. It didn't end up exactly how I thought it would, and it was very much researched after I wrote stuff down (hence the magical bear traps that you can only open via prying, and the runes that - honestly - don't make too much sense but I'm going with it anyway). My artistic licence is well exercised in this one. But, anyway, here's hoping you guys like this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> There is a lot of wolfy behaviour going on in here. Also, there's a few moments where animal blood is used straight from the source to paint symbols on someone. I don't think it's too bad or terribly descriptive, and fluffy's death is offscreen, but if that squiks you out, perhaps give this one a miss.

Stiles scratched his nose with the end of his pen, eyes fixed on the old book resting on his lap. Hunching his shoulders slightly, he shifted in his seat to try and find a more comfortable position, the right side of his butt having numbed after having sat on it for the past three hours.

Summer had once more arrived in Beacon Hills, and Stiles was taking advantage of the downtime to get in some much-needed research. Well, maybe not _needed_ , but Stiles was a firm believer in preventive research when it came to all things that liked to go bump in the night.

A low snort came from the couch beside him and he couldn’t help the small, fond smile curve his lips as he glanced over to his slumbering companion.

Derek was stretched out on the couch adjacent to the recliner Stiles occupied. The alpha had spent the better part of the morning running circles around his pack, working hard on their agility via a foam pool noodle – of all ridiculous things – whacking any pup who was too slow to dodge.

After listening to the loud ‘thwack’ of the pool noodle connecting with skin for hours, followed by the even louder complaints and yells of disgruntled pups, Derek had finally given up and left the wolves free to do whatever they wanted outside. Stiles couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved to finally have some peace and quiet.

The rest of the pack had been quick to disperse, with Derek making a beeline for the couch near Stiles and literally growling when Scott and Isaac had inched towards the gaming consoles. Stiles had laughed when the duo did an about-face and instead declared that some roughhousing in the preserve with Jackson was exactly what they felt like doing.

Breathing in deeply, Stiles closed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head, feeling the familiar ache in the back of his neck from having been leaning over for too many hours. Yawning widely, he opened his eyes to find slitted green ones staring back at him.

“Have a good nap?” He asked.

Derek made a positive sounding grunt, absently rubbing his stubbled cheek against the cushion beneath his head. The familiar swell of amusement he felt whenever one of the pack displayed particularly wolfy behaviour in front of him warmed his chest.

“Hungry?” He asked, pushing himself to his feet and leaving the book on the small coffee table as he made his way through the open planned kitchen/dinning/living area. Derek remained silent behind him, which Stiles took to mean it had been a stupid question, werewolves were always hungry.

“We can use the loaves I picked up from the bakery this morning and make some sandwiches for lunch. Do we still have those packets of cold cuts in the fridge?” Stiles asked as he slid the lid of the large bread bin back to reveal the loaves he’d stashed there when he’d arrived at the den earlier.

“They’re still there.” Derek’s voice came from just behind him, and Stiles had to supress the jerky jump his body instinctively made in surprise. It didn’t matter how many years he’d been keeping company with sneaky, ninja wolves, they were always able to creep up behind him.

“Sandwiches it is, then.” He nodded to himself, moving around Derek to get some salad ingredients from the crisper while the wolf pulled out the packets of cold meat.

The two worked comfortably for the next few minutes, making up a large platter of sandwiches for the no doubt hungry brood who were conveniently bound to turn up just in time for all the work to have already been done. Stiles happily rambled off some of the new information he had been reading about, Derek offering mostly noises of interest, interspaced with the occasional opinion or comment when he recognised the topic.

It was nice.

It was comfortable.

It was something Stiles found himself doing more and more often with the alpha.

Over the past year, the packs’ first year at college, they had all settled somewhat, despite the distance attending different universities had enforced upon them. Stiles knew Derek had been particularly worried about the spreading of his pack over such a large space, the alpha having been testy in the last few weeks of the summer before. Stiles had been fascinated to watch as the man warred with his desire for his pack to be well educated and to follow their own ambitions, and his instinctive desire to have them close by.

Thankfully, however, with a lot of luck, long car trips and – strangely – express mailing of clothing, they’d managed to make everything work. The pack had even somehow fallen into a closer bond than when they’d been living in the same town. Stiles had started the year with only the occasional phone call or message from one of his pack mates, mostly comprised of complaints about the course work loads and new classmates. By the time there was only a few weeks until the end of the school year, he was getting multiple messages every day and usually a phone call or two, Skype sessions were also a thing that happened.

The conversations had progressed from the mere complaints to genuine worries to sharing of accomplishments. Stiles also found himself falling into a mediator role, sorting out inter-pack disputes and proposing ideas to their alpha if he thought they had merit but had been shot down without discussion.

Stiles couldn’t exactly claim to not enjoy how essential to the pack he felt when he was consulted on even the most ridiculous of disagreements, like if the peanut butter belonged in the fridge or cupboard.

It wasn’t, however, just the pups who had been relying more heavily on him, but also Derek had taken to insisting upon a Skype call once a week, the numerous text messages exchanged between each call apparently not enough. The calls had been consistent from the first week he had arrived at Berkley. Initially, they’d been stilted conversations lasting all of five minutes, but over time they’d grown more comfortable talking to each other and now it wasn’t uncommon for Stiles to fall asleep before his laptop after having talked to Derek all night. Mostly, they discussed pack business, updating each other on what information they’d been privy to by the pups gossiping ways and comparing notes when any of them seemed to be having difficulties. The mom and dad situation between them hadn’t been lost on Stiles.

But sometimes, when it’d been a slow week on the drama front, they just talked, about anything and everything. Stiles couldn’t lie when he said he loved those moments. Talking with Derek about mundane things, with no threat of a supernatural villain or inter-pack drama, wasn’t something they’d really done before. But the relative peace of Beacon Hills while the pack was away had left little room for distractions and Stiles was able to learn more about the broody alpha on a personal level.

As expected, just as they were finishing up with the sandwiches, the rest of the pack began making their way inside the den.

They had sat down at the large wooden kitchen table used for pack dinners, impatiently waiting for the few stragglers to show up before they began eating, when Derek suddenly tensed in his seat at the head of the table.

“What’s wrong?” The words were out of Stiles’ mouth before the rest of his mind caught up to what he was seeing. Spending the last few years practically living in the pocket of a pack of wolves, a banshee, and a hunter had sharpened Stiles’ own senses, attuning his body to the rest of the pack.

Derek didn’t verbally answer, but he did reach over and comfortingly squeeze Stiles’ hand from his seat beside him. Looking at the alpha, Stiles fell silent as the man stood.

As expected, not five seconds later, the front door was pushed open as Scott and Isaac spilled into the room, frowns marring their faces.

“What is it?” Derek asked, the room stilling completely.

“We were on the North side of the territory and we smelt something… weird.” Scott dutifully replied.

Stiles was never so thankful that Scott had gotten over the bad blood between Derek and him as when it came to the sharing of information. When one dealt with supernatural baddies numerous times each year, the pooling of resources and knowledge made keeping people alive easier.

“Weird how?” Stiles asked.

“It kind of smelt like, well, you.” Isaac said, one shoulder rising in a half shrug.

“You when you’re doing magic, he means.” Scott butted in, effectively stopping the strange looks that the rest of the pack had been shooting Stiles.

“So, a strong magical residual, then?” Stiles cocked his head to the side curiously.

“Was it heading into the territory, or just passing by?” Derek asked.

“Heading in, definitely.” Derek growled lowly. “But, when we tried to track it, it just disappeared on the main road into town.”

“Whoever it is must’ve caught a ride. But, they could have been heading in either direction.” Stiles muttered, mind ticking away as the many possibilities began sorting from most likely, to least likely, in his head.

“Did you smell anything on the way back here?” Derek asked.

“No. Once it disappeared at the road, we couldn’t pick it up again.” Isaac replied.

Stiles was brought out from his turbulent thoughts by the slightest movement from Derek and, without thinking, he reached out and snagged the hem of the alpha’s henley to prevent him from moving away.

“There doesn’t seem to be any immediate threat. So, let’s just have our lunch, and then you can take some of the pups with you to investigate.” Stiles coaxed, looking up into green eyes unwaveringly.

Derek was still for a moment before he let out a small huff and sat back down, his body remaining tense.

“Come on, let’s eat.” Stiles said, the cheer in his voice only slight forced.

He just hoped that whatever the new magical thing that had entered Beacon Hills was, it didn’t have any plans on murder or mayhem of the pack.

*

“Come on, aim properly you stupid thing!” Stiles yelled, teeth gritted together as he tilted the controller in his hand as though that was going to give him the extra edge he needed.

“You’re going down, man!” Scott grinned, perched on the couch beside him, knees tucked up to his chest and arms outstretched.

Erica laughed loudly as Stiles groaned, the screen before him flashing ‘Game Over’ for his character.

“My turn!” She grabbed the controller from Stiles, settling down on his other side. Stiles, wise to the danger of his current position, hopped up from the couch claiming he wanted more snacks, when really it was self-preservation as he knew elbows and knees were about to start flying between the two wolves.

It had been almost a week since Scott and Isaac had first scented the magical residual in the Hale territory. Since then, Derek had ordered for regular patrolling of the boarders of the preserve, seeming to become more annoyed each time the wolves reported back to him after having found and lost the scent. There was a definite concentration of the scent throughout the preserve which, Stiles privately thought, was getting under Derek’s skin more than if the scent had been through the main streets of Beacon Hills. Having a potential threat so close to the packs’ den was putting Derek in a constant state of stress.

The worst part, however, was that they still had no idea what was causing the magical residual. The scent seemed to just appear, trail through the preserve for a bit, then disappear just as mysteriously. Stiles had the uneasy feeling that whatever was causing the scent knew that there was a wolf pack in the area and was taunting them.

He snagged a packet of chips from the kitchen pantry before returning to where Scott and Erica were battling it out, voices raised as they threw out insults, trying to distract the other so that they could gain the upper hand.

He had just sat down on one of the two loveseats, safely away from the duo and their elbows, when the front door opened and Derek walked into the den, the frown on his face clearly stating that he’d had no luck on his patrol.

Stiles patted the seat beside him sympathetically and Derek slinked over, sitting down with a loud sigh, legs splayed widely so that a thigh was pressed up snug against Stiles’ own. Stiles offered him his open packet of chips, but Derek merely scrunched up his nose in distaste before crossing his arms over his chest and slumping slightly in Stiles’ direction.

“We’ll work it out.” Stiles said encouragingly, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth and chewing.

Derek grunted, eyes sliding shut moodily.

Stiles lost time watching Erica and Scott try numerous attempts to best the other, the warm press of the alpha heating his side.

Eventually, the two betas tired of their game, Erica crowing victory much to Scott’s annoyance. Stiles suddenly found himself the object of two amused pairs of eyes, the fond smile on his face morphing into exasperation.

“Why don’t you two make yourselves useful and go get us something for dinner?” He asked softly, mindful of the slumped form beside him, Derek’s hair tickling his neck each time he moved.

Erica was trying to stifle giggles and Scott gave him a jaunty salute as the dup stood and left the house. Stiles looked around, realising he was alone with Derek, an unusual occurrence since they’d come back for the summer.

Turning his head slightly towards where Derek rested against him, Stiles allowed himself a moment to just breath in the scent of the man. The smells of the forest twinned around Derek’s uniquely masculine scent, just a touch of his shampoo blended in.

Derek let out a quiet snuffling noise, cheek rubbing against Stiles’ shoulder before he let out a small huff and stilled once more.

“You really had no luck finding anything?” He asked quietly, staring absentmindedly out the window across the room, dusk settling over the trees.

“It’s just like it is every time.” Derek’s voice was deeper than usual, rough with sleep even though it had only been a brief nap. “Nothing, then I can scent it, but once I’ve tracked it for a bit, it just ends.” Frustration coloured his voice and Stiles reached for his hand without another thought.

Giving the larger hand a small, reassuring squeeze, he leaned away briefly to grab the TV remote before settling back, Derek grumbling slightly at having been moved.

“I sent Erica and Scott to pick up something for dinner. So, we’re probably going to have pizza.” Stiles mentioned, feeling content as Derek pushed up against his side once more, head tucking into his neck so that warm breath fanned out on each exhale against Stiles’ skin. Resting his free hand on Derek’s thigh, Stiles let himself relax as he mindlessly watched some drama on TV.

They managed to enjoy half an hour of peace before the rest of the pack began turning up, word that pizza was on the menu for dinner having travelled fast. Stiles briefly entertained the thought of getting up when they first began arriving, but Derek was still leaning against him dozing, and Stiles knew how stressed the wolf had been for the last week. He was just happy to see him getting some sleep. Even the entertained looks various pack members were sending him weren’t enough to get Stiles moving.

Finally, however, Erica and Scott returned with a frankly ridiculously large stack of pizza boxes, which were quickly spread out on the kitchen table and counters.

“Derek?” He squeezed the warm thigh under his hand, hoping to coax his companion into wakefulness so that they both could eat. Derek let out a quiet sound, but otherwise didn’t move.

Stiles was about to try again, when Allison suddenly appeared before them, a box rescued from the descending wolves in her hand.

“Here you guys go.” She grinned, eyes flickering between them, but her smile was less amused and more affectionate as she pulled the small coffee table over to the loveseat and set the box down. Pulling out a slice of meat lovers – heavy on the meat – she handed it to Stiles before returning to the rest of the boxes for her own dinner.

“Allison, you’re so my favourite.” Stiles grinned, taking a large bite of his slice and chewing happily as the flavours exploded on his tongue.

He was about to take another bite when a low whine reached his ear. Looking down, his eyes met pitiful looking green ones and he tried, he tried so hard to steel himself against the begging in them, not that anyone would ever call it begging to Derek’s face.

“You’re meant to be the big, bad, strong alpha of this pack.” He grumbled, but obligingly held the slice up to Derek’s mouth, the other taking a large bite of his own. A happy growling sound came from him for a moment before he pushed himself upright on the couch, stretching slightly.

“I am the alpha.” He said almost absentmindedly as he proceeded to steal the rest of the slice Stiles held.

“Hey, there’s a box right there, lazywolf.” He snarked, digging an elbow into Derek’s side, not that he seemed all that bothered by it.

“So, get another piece.” He shrugged, licking his fingers after demolishing the rest of the slice.

Stiles glared at him, but they both knew it was all for show when Stiles could feel the warmth in his chest and he knew Derek would be able to smell the happiness in his scent.

“Hey, if you guys’ don’t stop flirting, there’ll be no pizza left for either of you.” Jackson called out, his voice loud over the growls and yips of the others fighting for their favourite toppings.

“Yeah, shut up.” Stiles called back, only slightly embarrassed by his words.

Whatever it was that was going on between Derek and himself, Stiles was content to let things happen naturally. As Derek’s thigh was still pressed snuggly up against his own as he reached for another slice, Stiles grinned.

*

Stiles was comparing the sodium content in two different brands of canned tomato soup at the grocery store, when he felt his phone buzz with an incoming phone call in his pocket. Putting the higher level one back on the shelf, he chucked the chosen can into his basket before fishing out his phone, idly noting that he was the only one down the canned food aisle.

“You do know who you called, right?” He asked, looking at his phone where the video call screen showed Jackson already rolling his eyes at him.

“Shut up.” Jackson said, reflexively.

“You’re the one who rang me, dude.”

“Only because Derek can’t use technology.” Jackson grumbled, looking over the screen at, presumably, Derek.

Stiles laughed, the beta wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Give me that.” Derek’s voice came off screen and the camera unfocused for a moment before clearing on Derek’s face, the alpha appearing to stare down rather than at Stiles himself due to the cameras location. Derek’s continued inability to properly use technology was the subject of many jokes and teasing about old men and newfangled technology within the pack.

“What’s up?” Stiles asked, eyes trailing back to the shelves of food as he thought about what he could make for dinner that night that his father wouldn’t complain about too much.

“We found some symbols carved into trees near the den.” Derek’s voice was tight, and Stiles immediately looked back at his phone screen.

“Symbols as in kids are shits who graffiti even on trees, or symbols as in this is magical in nature and we have no idea what kind of spell someone’s trying to cast?” He asked, voice lowering in case there was anyone in the next aisle over.

“They look like runes of some kind.” Derek said, looking away from the camera and glaring again.

“Hmm, show me?” He leaned against the aisle, ignoring the colourful sign announcing half price stewed peas – even he wasn’t that mean as to try and make his dad eat that.

The look on Derek’s face clearly asked why he was the one stuck doing this, but he obligingly turned the phone to face the tree.

“No, up, I can’t see it all – no, stop! Too far, down a bit, wait. Okay, just, take half a step back, yeah, okay that’s better.” Stiles stared at his phone screen, a frown on his face as he tried to make out the symbol. It looked as if someone had gone at the smooth bark of the tree with a knife and hacked away until it vaguely resembled a shape. It wasn’t triggering any kind of memory from when he’d looked into runes before, so he’d have to dig deeper.

“Are they all like this, or different?”

The screen blurred slightly again as Derek turned the camera back to face him, still looking at the wrong spot.

“Some are different, others’ repeat in a kind of pattern. All up, we’ve found about twelve so far. They seem to be circling the den.” A slight growl accompanied his words.

“Okay, look… take some pictures and send them to me, I’ll start looking into it tonight. If I can’t figure out what they mean I’ll head out to the preserve tomorrow and have a look around myself. There might be something about their placement or the direction that’s important.”

Derek was silent for a moment before he let out a breath.

“Take Boyd with you when you go tomorrow, I don’t want anyone in the preserve by themselves right now.”

“Yes alpha, my alpha.” Stiles teased, hoping to lighten the dark look on Derek’s face.

Derek gave him a sharp grin, teeth longer than a regular human’s, before he ended the call.

Stiles couldn’t help but feel amused, putting his phone back into his pocket and straightening to continue his shopping. He took a few steps to the end of the aisle, intending to go right down the next one, when the feeling of being watched caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

Pausing as casually as he could before the stand of boxed chocolates, he tried to stealthily look around himself for anything out of the ordinary. The cashier was staring into space and old Mrs Peterson from two streets away – who had babysat Stiles exactly once as a child – was currently reading through the latest gossip magazine without buying it.

Glancing to the other side of the store, Stiles froze at the three pairs of eyes staring back at him. Three women stood near the entrance to the grocery store, not even trying to act like they were shopping for food. Two blonde women and a brunette, they just stood there, staring at him with matching hungry looks on their faces.

The brunette suddenly smiled at him, and Stiles felt a chill run up his spine.

Wasting no more time, he ducked into the next aisle and pulled his phone back out of his pocket. Pressing the familiar contact, he lifted it to his ear this time as he faced a wall of Tupperware containers, his eyes flickering to the end of the aisle.

As soon as he heard it connect, Stiles was speaking, words falling from his mouth.

“Dad, hey, listen. I was thinking all that food we’ve got at home, we should get some containers for it.”

The silence on the other end of the line was almost like a physical force.

“Containers…” Derek’s voice slowly came through the small phone’s speakers.

“Yep, all that food. I’m thinking three containers should do it.” Stile again glanced at the mouth of the aisle.

He wasn’t entirely sure those chicks wouldn’t react if they heard him calling his alpha, so code it was.

Derek was silent for another beat before a low growl could be heard.

“Only you.” He muttered. “There’s three of them? Are you still at the grocers?”

“Yep. I thought that was the right number.” Stiles continued to babble.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Derek said before the dial tone filled Stiles’s ear.

“Bye.” He said to no one, letting his arm fall to his side, the plastic clutched tightly in his hand as he stared determinedly at the containers before him.

True to his word, less than ten minutes later Derek appeared at the end of the aisle Stiles was still standing in, a scowl on his face as he headed over to him.

“It was them.” He said without prelude, a big hand coming up to rest between Stiles’ shoulder blades and dragging down to his lower back. Stiles saw him take in a deep breath, no doubt checking that he wasn’t hurt, before his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Yeah, they were giving off seriously creepy vibes.” Stiles nodded, feeling himself relax now that he wasn’t alone.

“Whatever they are, they’re gone now. I could smell them in the parking lot before the scent just disappeared, as usual.”

“It was three women, two blondes and a brunette. They looked about our age, but there was something… unsettling about them.” Another shiver ran down his spine, just remembering the way they had looked at him. He’d never felt quite so objectified, like he was somebodies’ dinner, and not in the sexy way.

“Do you have anything else to get?” Derek asked, glancing down at his half full basket.

“Nothing that can’t wait. Let’s get out of here.” Derek didn’t say anything else as they went and paid for what Stiles had already picked up. The cashiers’ flirty smile didn’t even seem to register on the alpha’s radar, his eyes still tracking around the store just in case.

It wasn’t until they reached the jeep in the carpark that Derek finally removed his hand from Stiles’ back, the loss of the comforting warmth almost making Stiles reach back for him.

Almost.

*

The fallen leaves and twigs crunched beneath his runners as Stiles walked through the preserve, his phone in hand as he used it to take his own pictures of, and record notes on, the runes as Boyd showed him to each of the trees.

“I dunno, man. This doesn’t seem to make any sense.” Stiles grumbled, half to himself and half to his mostly silent companion.

They were nearing the end of the targeted trees and so far, Stiles had seen a variety of runes he recognised from European history. The problem was, they weren’t all from one area. He’d seen some with Germanic origins, while others had Celtic history. Usually when someone was attempting to invoke powers using runes, they stuck to one belief system. Stiles was pretty sure that it made what they were attempting to accomplish more powerful and stable.

Then there was the doubling up of meanings. Some of the runes from different origins had the same meaning, or at least similar meanings, suggesting that whoever was doing this either didn’t do their research, or they were trying to enhance certain aspects of the ritual by repeating the same thing in different ways.

“This one’s another power booster, that’s three now.” Stiles sighed as he took a photo before running a hand through his hair in frustration.

A sudden hand clasped around his upper arm, causing Stiles to look back at the taller man in surprise.

Boyd was looking into the trees, the slight flaring of his nostrils indicating that he was scenting the air around them.

Stiles tensed in response, the memory of the three women flashing through his mind as he, too, peered into the trees.

“What is it?” He asked quietly after a beat of silence.

“I smell blood.” Boyd replied, before steering Stiles further into the trees, eyes alert for any sign that they weren’t alone.

“Oh, great. If we find a dead body, please let it not be someone we know.” Stiles groaned. They must have been alone if Boyd was willing to investigate without waiting for backup from the rest of the pack.

Boyd flashed his startlingly white teeth in amusement, but it was otherwise silent between the two as they moved forward. Boyd’s hand had fallen from Stiles’ arm, but he still hovered closer than usual.

Stiles didn’t need a super sniffer to know when they’d reached the place. It was a smallish clearing, only a few feet wide, but there was evidence of a small raised platform made from rocks beneath one of the trees. Burned down candles had made a mess of wax on the preserve ground, and in pride of place atop the alter was what looked like a slaughtered rabbit.

“Poor fluffy.” Stiles said, inching closer to the gruesome sight.

Boyd snorted softly, shadowing his steps.

“Man, if this smells’ bad to me, it must be hellish on your nose.” He glanced behind him, a faint nod his only response.

Raising his phone once again, Stiles snapped a series of photos before backing away. While this wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever seen – it didn’t even make the top ten – it was still gross and the smell of iron and sage in the air was nauseating.

“Come on, let’s get back so I can contact Lydia and see if she recognises any of these.” Stiles turned to Boyd, holding up his phone for emphasis.

“What do you think it’s about?” Boyd asked quietly as they began making their way to the den.

“I’m pretty sure it’s nothing good for us.” He answered with a frown, glancing back at where the small alter was quickly swallowed up by the trees.

*

Stiles placed the lid back on the huge pot he had been checking with a sense of satisfaction. Using an oven mitt, he carefully peaked into the other oversized pot on the stove top that was filled with rice to make sure it was cooking properly. Seeing that dinner was progressing as planned, he turned to face the rest of the room, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets as his eyes trailed over the space before him.

The large kitchen was at one side of the den, a wide breakfast bar separating it from the rest of the room, four stools lining the opposite side. The actual kitchen table that they used for pack meals was next, its robust hardwood surface already nicked and lightly scratched from constant use. The stairs leading to the second floor that housed the various bedrooms and bathrooms were tucked behind the table, opposite the front door. The back door stood beside the stairs, almost directly across from the front, so one could stand at either door and see out of other. Finally, the living space completed the room, one big couch faced the flat-screen television – that Derek _still_ denied he bought just to shut up the pack who had whined about HD - with two loveseats on either side, and a recliner completing the setup.

Currently, Lydia was perched on one of the stools, her laptop open before her as she helped him with researching the runes. They had yet to find any meaning behind the strange combination, much to everyone’s frustration. Derek sat a stool over from her, an old tomb of a book that Stiles had managed to pilfer from Deaton after a less than helpful question session, open before him.

Outside, Stiles could hear the occasional sound of Erica’s laughter through the open back door, her and Boyd claimed they were watering the vegetable and herb garden Stiles had started when the house had finally reached completion last year. Well, Derek had started the vegetable garden and Stiles, upon learning that their alpha had an impressive green thumb, had turned up one day with a box full of seeds and a shovel. Derek had done most of the work in an effort to preserve his vegetables from Stiles’s well intentioned, but disastrous, gardening skills. Stiles was pretty sure Erica and Boyd, however, were more interested in squirting water at one another and making out than actually watering any plants.

“This one here is from Sweden, which, frankly, makes more sense than all the Germanic and Celtic runes we’ve been looking at so far.” Lydia spoke up, jotting something down on the small notebook she kept beside her laptop.

“Have you had any luck with finding out why they’re using runes from different countries?” Stiles asked, moving forward to lean his arms on the kitchen island, almost directly across from Derek.

“No.” She admitted, lips pursed.

“What about the book?” Stiles turned his attention to Derek.

“It’s mostly on the origin of runes and what some of the more popular ones mean.” Derek huffed, not looking up from the page he was reading.

Stiles let out his own small sigh. Even the internet had been failing him lately, it seemed that the only way to research runes was if you already knew what kinds you were after and what purpose you wanted them for.

“We’ll figure it out.” Derek said quietly, and Stiles looked up to meet his green eyes.

“I know, we always do.” He smiled tightly, the knowledge that sometimes they were too late to use the information to prevent someone getting hurt was a heavy weight between them.

Derek opened his mouth as if to say more, leaning in closer to Stiles, when he suddenly froze, whole body going ridged. Sitting up straight, Stiles watched as Derek’s nose flared. Unease slid down his spine as Derek’s chest expanded with a deep breath.

The alpha was up and heading for the door before Stiles could do more than stand up straight himself.

“Derek?” Stiles called out.

Derek didn’t respond, instead opening the front door and disappearing out it.

“Erica! Boyd!” Stiles yelled, following Derek outside and finding him already gone.

The duo appeared after a moment, clothes damp and Erica’s hair a mess.

“What’s up?” Erica asked, her humour fading as she took in the increasingly tense atmosphere that had settled over the den.

Stiles glanced back at them and beckoned them onto the porch, Lydia stepping up beside him as well. Turning his eyes to the tree line, he frowned. Whatever had caught Derek’s attention had been enough to get him running from the den. It couldn’t be anything good.

“Derek just took off, can either of you hear or smell anything?”

The sound of the two wolves breathing in deeply was followed by a beat of silence.

“There’s not much to smell, other than the tension coming off of you two.” Erica said and Stiles cursed alpha werewolves and their inability to tell him _what the hell was going on_.

Suddenly, both beta’s heads cocked to the side.

“Isaac’s hurt.” Boyd said, clearly listening to something Stiles couldn’t hope to hear with his dulled human senses.

“Jackson says he stepped on a bear trap and now it’s stuck on his foot.” Erica continued, a frown turning her lips down.

Anger bubbled up in Stiles’s chest with worry only a step behind it.

“Fucking poachers.” He growled, making a mental note to tell his father about this. Beacon Hills preserve had a strict one month hunting period each year, otherwise it was against the law to hunt in the area. It wouldn’t be the first time some wannabe big game hunter went to town on the poor animals in the preserve just because they had a slew of traps and guns.

“If they’re just hunters, why hasn’t someone opened the trap back up?” Lydia asked.

The silence was thick between them.

“Erica, go and grab the first aid kit.” Stiles restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes not leaving the tree line.

It took another few minutes of silence, but Stiles’ human ears finally picked up the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs, the low whimpering accompanying the trio of approaching wolves tugging at his chest.

Stiles was down the stairs and meeting them halfway when they came through the tree line. He took in how Derek and Jackson were supporting Isaac between them, the wolf’s left leg bent and raised, metal decorating his ankle.

“Jesus.” Stiles breathed, feeling anxious just looking at the pale, sweaty face of the boy.

“Get him inside and onto the couch.” Derek said to Jackson as they moved up the stairs, Isaac letting out a loud whine when his foot bounced too low and connected with the wooden step.

Stiles followed them dutifully, eyes not leaving Isaac as he was gently lowered onto the couch inside, the rest of the pack falling back slightly to allow Derek and Stiles to take a closer look at the situation.

“Why haven’t you taken that off?” Stiles asked, gesturing with one hand to the bear trap that was tightly snared around Isaac’s ankle, the other reaching out and smoothing over a sweat damp forehead, trying to offer some form of comfort to the wolf.

“The metal’s been infused with wolfsbane.” Derek growled, voice gravel rough and eyes glowing softly with the red light of an alpha.

Stiles felt sick.

“Fuck.” He muttered, taking a moment to curse methodological hunters of the supernatural and their fucked-up brand of poaching.

“I can’t get a proper grip on the metal because of the wolfsbane.” Derek admitted, lips pulling back in a silent snarl when Isaac let out another pained whimper, face pushing into Stiles’ hand.

Stiles tried to think, to not focus on the intense need to comfort Isaac and look solely at the problem at hand. They needed a way to get the trap open, even if only for a few seconds, that would be enough for Isaac to pull his foot free. There was always the option of going and finding something to break the trap with, but the fact that it was infused with wolfsbane made Stiles reluctant to wait too long to remove it.

“What if,” he started, mind ticking over. “What if I held onto the trap, and you pulled my arms to part the jaws?”

“No.” Derek immediately shook his head, frown deepening.

“It might work, Derek.” Stiles’ voice was serious and void of any of his usual humour and sarcasm.

“I could also seriously injure you. What if you don’t have a proper grip? I could end up breaking your arms.” He snapped, the red intensifying in his eyes.

“No, you won’t. I’ll make sure my grip is firm. All you have to do is pull my arms apart, it’ll work.” Stiles forced conviction into his voice, moving his hand from where it had been comfortingly cradling Isaac’s head as he squatted down beside the trap.

It was an awful sight. The jaws looked huge in comparison to Isaac’s ankle, and Stiles didn’t need a medical degree to know that the bone had been broken by the impact of the teeth snapping closed. A thick, heavy set chain trailed after the trap, the end half covered in dirt suggesting that it had been buried deep in the ground in an effort to keep the victim in place. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t bleeding too much, the denim of Isaac’s jeans had soaked up what little blood there was. Stiles bitterly thanked whatever gods were listening that he couldn’t see where the teeth were no doubt buried into Isaac’s flesh as he was pretty sure the sight would have been enough to turn his stomach. As it was, he had to swallow hard and focus on the task he needed to accomplish.

Derek let out a low growl, but followed Stiles to the floor, crowding in close so that his broad chest was a firm wall of warmth along Stiles’ back. Strong, muscle bound arms wound around Stiles, large hands coming to rest lightly just below his wrists.

Glancing up at the other four pack mates present, Stiles offered a grim smile.

“Jackson, Boyd, hold Isaac down at his shoulders and hips, I don’t want him to move too much. Erica, as soon as the traps open, I want you to pull his leg free, I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep it that way. Lydia, be ready with the first aid kit, we’re going to have to flush the wound before it’ll start healing.” Stiles said, voice calm despite the thundering of his heart.

The betas moved into position and Stiles took a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the distinct scent of iron in the air.

“Okay, this’ll be all over and done with in a moment, Isaac.” He tried to offer one last bit of comfort to the pained boy.

Carefully, he reached out his fingers and felt along the cool metal teeth of the trap, searching for an area that would give him a firm grip. Finally finding one, he blocked out the increase in pained sounds Isaac made, and took one last deep breath.

“Okay, on three.” Stiles said softly to Derek, the large hands on his arms tightening in response.

“One… two… three!”

Stiles grabbed hold for all he was worth, fingers burning almost immediately with pain as they felt like they were being wrenched from his hands. The tight bands of Derek’s fingers pinching into his skin guaranteed him a matching set of bruises on his arms tomorrow.

It only took a few seconds before the jaws began to pry open, Isaac’s foot was quickly pulled to safety and Stiles let the vicious teeth clang together on thin air with a loud, metallic thud.

He took a moment to breathe, heart thudding in his chest painfully as his fingers throbbed in time with it. Derek’s strong form behind him drew him back from the explosion of activity from the betas’. Lydia immediately moved to begin cleaning Isaac’s wound, as Erica held his leg aloft for her. Jackson and Boyd both had hands resting on Isaac’s skin as they drew pain from the younger wolf.

“Okay?” Derek asked him softly, warm breath fanning out over his ear as the hands that had held so tightly just moments ago now rested against his forearms, traces of black veins easing the burn in Stiles’ fingers.

“Yeah, just, give me a minute.” Stiles drew in another shaking breath, realising that he had been pulled back into the vee of Derek’s legs, knees bracketing where their arms were intertwined.

A small moan from Isaac pulled Stiles from his thoughts and, as his mind latched onto something else, Stiles gave Derek’s knee a pat before pushing himself up to his feet and moving closer to help Lydia.

Ten minutes later Isaac was patched up, Lydia cleaning up the used gauze and repacking the first aid kid. Isaac had been laid out on the couch, body turned towards the back of it with his still healing ankle elevated with a pillow. He was resting his head on Stiles’ lap, arms clinging to one of Stiles’ arms. Stiles, for his part, sat in the corner of the couch and let Isaac use him as a pillow, his free hand carding through blond locks slowly.

“Call Scott and Allison, I want both of them to help check the immediate area around the den, I don’t want any more of these traps surprising us.” Derek said to Boyd as he prepared to go into the preserve with the other wolves to try and sniff out any and all potential traps that had been laid for them.

“I need to run a few errands and see Deaton, but I’ll pick something up for dinner on my way back.” Lydia spoke to Stiles, her hand reaching out and running first through Stiles’ hair, and then Isaac’s.

“I was making stew.” Stiles half-heartedly protested.

“I’ll pack it away for tomorrow when I get back.” She promised with a small smile. He nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to move from his spot with Isaac. Lydia left, a large bag containing the bear trap in hand.

A warm hand slipped onto the back on his neck and then, similarly to Lydia, moved to clasp Isaac’s neck as well.

“We’ll be back soon, call if you need us.” Derek said quietly, leaning down over Stiles and placing Stiles’ phone on the armrest nest to him.

“Find all of them, Derek. It might not be a wolf that steps on one next time.” Stiles said, voice grim.

The alpha growled lowly, eyes flashing crimson, before turning and leading the three betas’ out of the house.

Stiles let out a sigh as quiet filled the air, only the warmth of Isaac, now safe and out of danger, kept him company. Fortifying himself with the knowledge that he may have to see another horrible thing like that again far sooner then he would ever want to, Stiles turned on the TV and lost himself in the make-believe show.

*

Stiles frowned down at his laptop in frustration, only for a soft snuffling sound from his left to distract him. Absentmindedly he reached out a hand and ran it over curly hair, the noise quieting down quickly.

If what he was reading about the Scandinavian runes he’d found was correct, then they were exclusively used as power focuses, designed to increase the levels of magical power and strength in the user. That combined with the rune Lydia had been looking at that morning, a Germanic one associated with theft, was drawing some alarming conclusions.

One way it could be interpreted, the way he hoped it wasn’t being used for, was that it would enable someone to steal someone’s magical power and strength. If the runes worked together successfully, they could take a person’s very essence from them.

The sound of feet on the porch pulled him from his darkening thoughts, and he looked up in time to see the wolves trooping back inside the den, Scott now among them.

“How’d you go?” Stiles asked quietly, eyes glancing over them all before coming to a rest on Derek.

“We found three more around the den and that alter you and Boyd discovered the other day.” Derek’s voice was almost a growl, the fact that strangers had managed to get so close to the den undetected not sitting well with him.

Stiles felt his worry increase.

“Allison’s taken them with her, as she’s the only one who can easily touch them.” Scott said, coming over and flopping down on a nearby loveseat, eyes drawn to where Isaac still slept upon the couch.

“How’s he doing?” Erica asked, moving over to them to run a hand through Isaac’s hair.

“He’s all healed up now, just sleeping it off.” Stiles said, closing his laptop and awkwardly leaning forward to place it on the floor.

“Good.”

“Lydia will be back with dinner soon.” Stiles offered as Derek moved into the kitchen, taking a glass from the drying rack and filling it with water.

The alpha grunted as the others made themselves comfortable before the TV, the mood still heavy with the lack of solid answers hanging over them.

“I’ll get dad to look into any unlicensed poaching in the area.” At the unimpressed look Derek sent him, Stiles shrugged. “You never know, they could slip up and he might be able to point us in the right direction, if nothing else.”

The fact that the wolves couldn’t track these people by scent was a serious problem, and not something they’d encountered before. It was throwing off the entire pack.

Derek walked over to the couch, finished with his glass in the kitchen, and moved the laptop from the floor to the small coffee table. Using more than a little bit of his extra wolfy strength, he lifted a protesting Stiles from the corner of the couch and deposited him back down in the middle. Isaac briefly let out a small, sleepy huff before he curled back up, head once more resting on Stiles’ thigh. Derek squeezed himself into the small pocket of space he’d made before pulling Stiles against his chest. An arm slipped around him so that Derek could run his fingers through Isaac’s hair, the pup letting out a happy, high pitched noise.

“Seriously? You couldn’t have just sat on the other end?” Stiles asked, exasperated with the ridiculousness of the man beside him.

Derek didn’t even bother to respond, eyes watching Isaac carefully for a moment before he settled back and turned his attention to the TV. Letting out a huff of his own, Stiles shifted slightly to get more comfortable, intentionally digging an elbow into Derek’s side out of pettiness, not that the man seemed to even feel it.

Stiles allowed himself to focus on the TV again, comforted by most of the pack surrounding them and the knowledge that it wouldn’t be long before Allison and Lydia returned.

*

The music from the old radio was turned down, the motor competing to be the loudest thing in the jeep, as Stiles idly drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove both himself and Scott to his house. Since the bear trap last week, Derek had insisted on a buddy system for the pack, with no one venturing out by themselves. Stiles was pretty sure that if he could have gotten away with it, Derek would have demanded that they all stay at the den until the issue was resolved.

Actually, Stiles was pretty sure that if Derek could have his way, they’d all be living at the den indefinitely. Stiles knew that once they started finishing college and came back to Beacon Hill full time, they’d all be looking for somewhere to live that wasn’t their parents’ houses. He was sure that the den would be the perfect solution for all of them. Stiles wasn’t even a wolf with pack instincts, but even he could still feel a longing to be closer to the others. 

The sudden sputtering of the jeep’s engine caused Stiles to groan loudly, peering at his dashboard as if something there might explain why his baby was suddenly crapping out on him.

“Come on, I got you serviced just the other month.” He sighed loudly as the car literally sputtered to a stop in the middle of Penton Street.

“I’m sure it’s an easy fix.” Scott said loyally, and Stiles had never loved him more. If it had been anyone else in the car with him, Stiles knew they’d have made a comment about how old the jeep was and that he needed to retire it and get something more reliable. Stiles was determined to keep using the old jeep until it refused to start again.

Heaving out a sigh, Stiles undid his seat belt and opened his door, legs swinging around to get out of the jeep.

“Wait!” Scott suddenly cried, hand reaching out and grabbing hold of Stiles’ shoulder to prevent him from leaving the cabin.

Looking back at the beta in confusion, Stiles had just enough time to take in the frown on Scott’s face as he stared into the darkness around them, before the sound of shattering glass broke through the silence.

Scott let out a howl of pain, hand leaving Stiles and reaching up to cup his own shoulder where red was quickly blooming on the white material of his shirt. Stiles reared back instinctively, eyes darting from his hurt pack mate to the fresh bullet hole in his windscreen.

“Scott!” Stiles exclaimed, hand reaching out for the wolf.

A loud whine from the boy as his face scrunched up was all Stiles got before his brain kicked into gear and he awkwardly tried to get his phone from his jeans pocket. He just needed to get his phone out and call Derek. He had to let their alpha know what was going on.

Hands suddenly grabbed hold of his shoulders and he let out a surprised squawk as he was dragged bodily from the jeep, landing hard on the road with a yelp of pain as his ankle twinged unhappily.

“Stiles!” Scott yelled, beginning to move across the cabin seats in order to get to him, his blood leaking down his arm.

A loud bang from the roof of the jeep was quickly followed by the sound of metal shredding on metal as a long, slim pipping shot through the roof, angled down so that it struck Scott in the thigh and effectively pinned him to the seat. The beta let out another loud cry of pain, hands reaching for the pipping only to pull back quickly with what Stiles could just make out as wolfsbane burn.

“Scott! Let me go you – Scott!” Stiles struggled against the surprisingly strong hands that held him down, trying to shove his elbow back and catch his assailant.

“Do not struggle, child. It will be over soon.” A female voice said comfortingly, and Stiles felt his stomach drop.

“Let me go.” He did his best approximation of a growl, looking over to a familiar cloaked figure, one of the blondes from the grocery store. A second figure dropped down from the jeeps’ roof to reveal the other blonde, meaning the person still holding him was probably the brunette.

She smiled at him, unbothered by his struggles or the loud panting whine from Scott, still stuck helpless in the jeep.

Stiles had just enough time to see her raise her hand, the metallic glint of a gun shinning in the loan street light, before she whipped the barrel across his face and the world went dark.

*

Stiles woke up to a pounding headache.

Groaning, he squinted open his eyes, staring at the starry sky above him for a moment before his mind caught up with what had happened before he’d been knocked out.

Breathing in sharply, he went to sit up, only to find himself hindered by thick metal shackles circling both his wrists. Turning his head as best he could when on the ground, he quickly realised that the dampness beneath him was from the dirt and leaf litter of the preserve.

He was surrounded by trees in a circular manner and he felt his stomach drop. He was in a small clearing. Nothing looked familiar from where he lay, so it was unlikely that it was near the places he and the pack frequented.

Turning his head to inspect his bindings, dismay filled him at the thick links that connected to form a chain that was attached to a pick, driven deep into the ground. Shifting his legs, he hissed as pain flared from his right ankle, the throbbing ache matching the pounding of his head. A quick check of his other foot revealed similar shackles effectively pinned him on his back, limbs spread and looking at the night sky. A breeze swept through the area and, belatedly, he realised that he was missing his shirt, the cool earth causing goose-bumps to creep up along his skin.

The sound of murmuring pulled his attention from inspecting his body, and he craned his neck up and back in an effort to see behind him. The three women were huddled together at the tree line, a brown box and a black satchel held between them.

“Hey!” Stiles called out, feeling his adrenalin kick in as he pulled uselessly at the shackles around his wrists.

The women ignored him and started bustling around the area. One blonde moved to the trees surrounding the small space and began inspecting them. Stiles strained his eyes slightly, just making out the now familiar runes carved into the bark. The other blonde pulled out some candles from the satchel and set them atop an alter that Stiles could barely see if his tipped his head back as far as it would go, back bowing off the ground with his efforts.

He quickly let his body fall back to the ground, the anxious feeling of exposing his throat so blatantly around a threat set his teeth on edge.

The brunette reached into the box and pulled out a small, fluffy rabbit. Stiles felt a slightly hysterical urge to crack a joke about magicians, but held his tongue as he realised the rabbit wasn’t moving. The woman approached him and he felt his skin crawl as he tried to move away when she dipped her fingers into the slit throat of the poor creature, before pressing bloody fingertips to Stiles’ bare chest.

“Hey – no! Oh, my God, that is disgusting. Can you not smear poor fluffy’s innards on me?” He pulled at his restraints again, squirming when the woman ignored him and merely went back for more, using the blood to paint runes onto his skin. His stomach rolled and he swallowed down the bile, choking on his own vomit was not the way he wanted to go.

Stiles tried to block out what was happening as the minutes passed, two more rabbits making an appearance from the brown box and more blood was painted on his chest and stomach. Finally, the brunette seemed satisfied and he watched in tense silence as she set the rabbits down around him, one on either side of him and the other at his feet. The two blonde women settled onto the ground, one on each side of his head, so close that if he’d turned his head he would have felt his nose brush up against their robe covered knees.

The duo began chanting in a language he didn’t recognise, though it did sound vaguely European in origin.

“Does anyone want to fill me in on what the hell is happening?” Stiles asked loudly, rattling his shackles uselessly. His heart was pounding in his chest and even the pain in his head and ankle was pushed to the back of his mind as he felt the panic building.

The brunette woman reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out an ornate dagger that caused the breath to hitch in Stiles’s throat.

“W-wait! Let’s talk about this for a second!” He cried out, breath fast and body instinctively pulling against his restraints.

He was once again ignored as the brunette swung a leg over him, her warm calves pressed against his thighs as she loomed above him.

“Wait…” Stiles felt his voice fail him, eyes glued to the dagger that was raised above the woman’s own head, the flickering light of the candles on the alter behind them all glinting off the jewelled handle.

The woman said something loudly in her foreign tongue, the chanting came to an abrupt halt, and Stiles had just enough time to slam his eyes shut as the dagger was plunged down and into his chest.

Pain ripped into him for a split moment, then everything just fell away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up being a little late - sorry!  
> I kept finding mistakes when I edited it - I'm positive I've still missed some but, ah well.  
> I was finishing up the final edit when the bathroom scene came to me and the character's refused to work with the original quick shower scene I had already written. I just had this idea of Derek taking care of Stiles with the hair washing, something I'm sure he did for Cora every once in a while as kids. That, and I just loved the idea of soft, gentle kisses between the boys.

An uneasy feeling had been growing in Derek’s gut for the past few days. Initially, he’d thought it was just in response to the threat that was taunting him and his pack in his own territory. But the feeling had been growing more intense, and he was sure that something bad was going to happen soon.

He cracked his neck, shifting his shoulders as he paced the area between the couch and the stools for the breakfast bar. Around him, the pups minus Scott – who had left when Stiles had gone home – were just as restless. Allison and Lydia were sitting quietly on the couch, the TV on before them, but their eyes strayed to Derek every other time he reached the couch. Erica was sitting on the staircase, Isaac next to her and leaning into her side. Boyd was finishing up with the remaining dishes from dinner, and Jackson had pulled one of the stools from the breakfast bar around to the other side of it, body tense and eyes locked on the alpha.

Sighing, he forced himself to still, his wolf pacing in the back of his mind and growling angrily.

He began to entertain the idea of going for a run, Stiles would be pissed if the den was a mess of nervous energy when he came by tomorrow.

The sudden ringing of his phone, however, derailed his thoughts and he pulled it from his pocket, the sick feeling in his gut intensifying at the sight of Scott’s name lit up on the screen.

“What is it?” He demanded, phone pressed to his ear and muscles tense.

“D-Derek,” Scott’s voice was horse, panting in short, sharp breaths. “It’s Stiles.”

“We’ll be right there.” Derek waisted only enough time to hang up his phone before shoving it back into the pocket of his jeans and rushing from the den. He didn’t bother with the cars, merely shifted as he took off running through the preserve.

Stiles was a creature of habit when it came to driving, always following the same paths when he went somewhere. Derek was positive that there would have been no deviation from the way Stiles normally drove from the den to his father’s house, despite the danger that had been lurking in town. Normally, this sort of thing drove Derek mad, and had been the cause for more than one argument between the two. Right now, however, he’d never been so thankful for Stiles’s bull-headed stubbornness.

Behind him, Derek could hear one of the cars roar to life, Allison and Lydia no doubt commandeering one of their cars in order to keep up with their superhuman pack mates. The sound of quick footed feet echoed his own in the preserve as the rest of the pack ran after him.

It only took a few minutes before Derek could smell freshly spilled blood in the air, and he put on an extra burst of speed as he reached the road. The Jeep was sitting in the middle of the street, the drivers’ door hanging open and the silhouette of Scott in the passenger seat visible through the back window.

Rounding to the passengers’ side, Derek pulled open the door and quickly took stock of the situation. Scott looked over at him, a sheen of sweat on his face as he panted, hands hovering around the thin pipping that went from the roof of the Jeep, down deep into the seat, Scott’s thigh skewered in-between. Blood had soaked into the martial over his shoulder, and a series of crimson trails snaked down his arm, smearing over the Jeeps’ interior.

“Derek,” Scott’s voice was sharp from pain. “They took Stiles.”

Derek felt his heart give a painful thud in his chest at Scott’s words, as if it were pressing right up against his ribs trying to escape.

A whine came from Isaac as the rest of the betas arrived around Derek, sympathy and worry in their scents as they peered into the Jeep.

“Where’d they take him?” Derek asked, pushing his emotions down.

“The preserve, that way.” Scott pointed off to the left of the street, towards the preserve, but away from the packs’ den. Derek took a moment to listen, ignoring the loud pounding of hearts around him, and focused on the sound of Lydia’s sports car tearing down the streets towards them.

“Isaac, stay with Scott, you might need to help Allison pull out the piping. Erica, Boyd, Jackson; you’re with me.”

Pushing off with his legs, Derek ran the way Scott had pointed, sure in the knowledge that Scott would be taken care of without him there. While the wolf may have been slightly poisoned by the wolfsbane infused piping, the bullet wound merely smelt of blood. He wouldn’t be in any immediate danger provided they got the wound cleaned. It was Stiles that was the main concern right now.

The sick feeling of worry intensified with every step he took.

The tang of foreign magic that had permeated his territory for the last few weeks was stronger than Derek had smelt it yet.

As they travelled further into the preserve, deeper then Derek would have expected a group of magic users with a captive would be capable of, they found themselves suddenly blinded as a bright, white light lit up the area before them.

Filtering in-between the trees, the light felt almost like a physical hand pressing against them, forcing them to a stop. A shrill scream pierced the night sky and he winced as it felt as though his very ear drums were being squeezed, pinched into nothing. Ringing filled his ears, with only his pounding heart being heard over it.

A sharp, ripping sensation in Derek’s chest stole his breath, one clawed hand raising to rest over his heart as he tried to force air back into his lungs.

A banshees’ scream and that awful, painfully familiar rip beneath his ribs… it couldn’t be true.

The light dimmed just as quickly as it had appeared, and the pack took off once more. It was only a bit further into the darkness before the stench of blood and death reached his nose, causing his stomach to roll unpleasantly.

A small clearing, not dissimilar to the one they’d previously found, opened up before them and they drew to a halt at the edge of the trees.

Three candles sat on what looked like a small stone alter, the scent of smoke still fresh in the air. Runes were scorched into the bark of the surrounding trees, and dead rabbits lay in a circle around the familiar body on the preserve ground, the fur lining their necks stained red. Stiles, himself, was spread out on the dirt, chains bitting into vulnerable wrists and ankles to keep him pinned down and helpless. His shirt was missing and rust coloured runes now marred the pale flesh. The large hilt of a dagger was protruding from his over his heart, the weak light of the half-moon causing the jewelled handle to shine.

They were too late.

Derek wasn’t sure how he got to Stiles, but his knees were suddenly pressing into the cool earth, trembling hands cupping the boy’s cheeks, fingers against his neck desperately seeking the steady beat he could no longer hear. Rage began to fill the emptiness inside his chest and he ripped the chains holding Stiles, the metal providing little resistance to his superior strength. Gathering the lax body to his chest, he hunched over Stiles, as if his mere presence alone could protect him.

Gasping in a chocked breath, he threw his head back to the night sky and howled, throat burning as his eyes closed to the moon and stars. Whines from his pack behind him began to filter through his healing eardrums, but they barely registered over his still and silent mate in his arms.

When his lungs were finally empty, he dropped his head to bury his nose in Stiles’s hair, only partially aware of the chorus his pack had begun. Their howls echoed his own grief, each voice distinct from the other.

When the preserve finally fell silent once more, Derek tried to force his mind to function properly and not dwell on the sight before him.

Not yet, at least.

“Fan out. Find them.” He gritted out, fangs getting in the way of the human words.

He heard his pack depart, but two hesitant sets of footsteps shuffled closer to him.

“Derek,” Lydia’s voice was quiet, hesitant in a way he’d never heard it before.

He hadn’t even noticed that the human’s, Scott, and Isaac had caught up with them.

He growled lowly, trying to ignore her from where he sat in the dirt and dead leaves.

“Derek, we should get Stiles to Deaton.” She pressed.

Huffing softly, he slid open his eyes just enough so that he could take in Lydia’s squatted form a few feet away. Her normally immaculate self was gone, her cheeks were smudged dark from her eye makeup, her hair messy from the run through the preserve. Isaac stood behind her to the right, his form hunched in on itself and eyes glowing golden.

While Lydia seemed determined to keep her eyes on Derek, Isaac kept dropping his gaze and letting out a faint whine each time his eyes landed on Stiles’ body.

Logically, Derek knew she was right. They had to take Stiles to Deaton, then they’d have to call the Sheriff. They had to tell the man who had given his blessing for his only child, his only _family_ , to run with a pack of wolves… Derek had to tell the man that he’d failed him, that he’d failed all of them. He’d broken the promise he’d made to protect Stiles. How was he meant to ever look the man in the eye when he was responsible for his child’s death?

“Derek, are you listening to me? We need to get Stiles to Deaton.” Lydia’s voice cut through his thoughts and he couldn’t help the instinctive tightening of his arms around his mate.

There was a loaded pause from Lydia before she shifted slightly, almost physically changing tactics as she started to inch closer to him, her voice softening.

“Derek, okay, you don’t want to leave him yet.” Her voice was gentle now, but no less firm. “That’s okay. What we’ll do is take the dagger to Deaton instead. How about,” her voice hitched slightly before she pressed on, determined. “How about you take Stiles back to the den?”

Derek’s heart beat a painful tempo against his ribs, the mention of the den – their home – making the scraped out feeling in his chest worsen.

What was a home without the heart?

Lydia reached out slowly when Derek made no move to remove the dagger himself. He eyed her carefully, having to concentrate hard on not smacking her away from his mate like his instincts screamed at him to. His wolf hadn’t accepted it yet, still saw an injured mate that needed protecting. Hell, even his human side was still having difficulty thinking of the reality laid out in his arms.

The only blessing was the speed with which Lydia pulled the dagger from Stiles. If it had been any other circumstance Derek would have felt proud of how her training was paying off.

“I’ll go to Deaton immediately.” She said, holding the dagger carefully, as if it could do anything worse to the pack then it had already done.

Derek watched with a sense of detachment as she organised for Erica to go with her to Deaton’s, once the she-wolf returned from hunting for leads. Isaac was to stay with Derek as they made their way back to the den, the meeting place for the rest of the pack.

Derek’s mind narrowed down to the cooling body he held in his arms. He didn’t entirely remember the walk back to the den, Isaac dogging his every step. He had flashes of the familiar weight in his arms, oddly silent and still. When they arrived, the place that normally filled Derek’s chest with warmth and happiness seemed duller than ever before, colder.

He managed to place Stiles upon the wooden kitchen table they’d spent so many happy meals seated around. He ignored Isaac, the pup sitting on the floor against the stools of the breakfast bar, whining and sniffing softly, grief souring his scent. Part of Derek knew he should be comforting his beta, that it was his job as alpha to look after him. But he couldn’t bring himself to move from Stiles’s side.

Derek stood protectively over Stiles, unable to force himself any further away. A need to be within the same space, if not touching the body of his mate, a constant ache in his chest. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what had happened. He couldn’t conceive the idea of a world in which he had lost the most important member of his pack all over again. First his family, then Laura, now Stiles…

He had been so hopeful with how close Stiles and he had become. They were running the pack like a well-established alpha pair. Stiles was everything and more than Derek could have hoped for in a partner and now – now he was _gone_.

How was Derek meant to run a pack by himself? He couldn’t even comfort Isaac as he cried.

Running his fingers through Stiles’ dirty hair, Derek longed to wash the blood and dirt off his mate. But, he knew that the blood drawn runes might help Deaton in identifying why the witches had preyed upon his mate. Why they had felt the need to destroy the Hale pack once again. What could Stiles’s death possibly be worth?

It wasn’t meant to be this way. They were supposed to grow together, both in themselves and within the pack. Derek wanted to spend the rest of his life arguing over the best type of pasta with Stiles. He wanted to move Stiles’s stupid comic book collection into a bedroom they shared and listen to him read them aloud to him, making exaggerated sound effects in all the appropriate places. Derek was meant to growl and roll his eyes at Stiles’ sarcastic humour, the knowing look in whisky eyes belaying his amusement.

Derek had imagined long days spent together, just the two of them with their stable, _happy_ pack living their lives with and around them. He could taste moonlit nights in the preserve as pups frolicked in their true forms, human pack mates unafraid and running with them. He ached to hear Stiles promise him forever and to have the privilege of promising it right back.

He dreamed of the words ‘ _I love you_ ’ coming from Stiles’s lips.

The rest of the pack arrived back at the den with no leads or answers, only a small collection of items found at the scene collected amongst them. Derek couldn’t help the low-level growl that escaped his throat at the news. The growl escalated to a snarl when they got too close, his instincts in overdrive with the scent of Stiles’ blood sharp in his nose.

Soft whines accompanied teary faces, but Derek remained where he stood, hunched over Stiles’ body, still futilely trying to protect him.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt his already tight muscles coil even further. The sound of the approaching human, someone not part of his pack, had his hackles rising and lips pulling back in a silent snarl. His eyes, still bleeding alpha red, narrowed as Deaton stepped into his den. A small, detached part of him noted with approval how Lydia and Erica were immediately pulled into the pack fold, away from the interloper, as soon as they had entered through the door. Each wolf could feel their instincts clawing at them to close rank, to face someone not part of their pack – even if he had been working with them for years – as a united force.

Deaton hadn’t taken more than two steps inside before coming to a stop, eyes sweeping over the room and taking in the situation with care.

“Derek,” his voice was calm and level, despite the increase in his heart rate.

The man wasn’t stupid, and had immediately recognised the dangerous situation for what it was.

“Derek, I need to see Stiles.” The vet was unusually clear and straight to the point.

Derek felt the snarl rip from his throat unbidden, fangs flashing and clawed nails digging into the wood of the table in an effort to stabilise himself, to try and prevent his instinctive need to spring forward and attack.

“You know I don’t mean him any harm, Derek.” Deaton continued, taking one step closer at a time, pausing every time the snarls and growls from the rest of the pack pitched especially high.

Derek merely sunk his claws further into the wood, until they were so deep that the soft pads of his fingers were also leaving behind dents.

It took a while, but Deaton’s patience paid off and he finally arrived on the other side of the table, close enough that he could clearly see Stiles’ body. Derek remained still, the continuous rumbling growl in his chest the loudest noise in the room.

Derek watched carefully as Deaton looked over Stiles, the man undoubtedly uncomfortable with how close Derek was to him considering the alpha was still leaning over Stiles’ body.

He made a thoughtful noise as he focused on a rune painted on Stiles’ torso, and Derek couldn’t help the irritated curiosity that grew in him.

“What.” He forced the word out, tongue almost nicking on his fangs.

“When Lydia showed me the dagger,” Deaton paused for a moment to glance at Derek’s face when another snarl ripped through the air. “Yes, well. I recognised it from one of my books. But, it doesn’t match with any of the runes. It doesn’t make sense with what we assume to have been the witches plan.”

“Either spit it out, or I’ll tear it from your throat myself.” Derek growled lowly.

Deaton’s face flashed with annoyance before the calm façade was back, his self-preservation in not challenging an almost feral alpha winning out.

“The ritual that has been performed was, essentially, designed to steal someone’s’ magic. The enhancer runes were to boost whatever magic was in the area, which was Stiles himself, along with the magical boost he received by being the mate to an alpha of a strong werewolf pack. Whoever held the dagger would have been able to steal that power for themselves. Think of the dagger as a conductor for it, forged with innocent blood to allow what is considered a most horrific act to pass through it.”

Derek listened quietly, not even twitching when Derek spoke Stiles’ name and of him being Derek’s mate. What did it matter now that Stiles was gone? Derek had waited too long, had put off telling the other as he’d wanted to be sure, for the moment to be perfect. He’d waited too damn long.

“But this dagger,” Deaton suddenly pulled the cursed object from a large pocket inside his overcoat and immediately Derek leaned further over Stiles’ body, a roar sounding in the room as the beta’s snarled and growled their displeasure.

“Stop, hold on!” Deaton yelled, trying to be heard over the furious animal sounds.

“This is Verxauberter Schlafdolch! It’s not the right dagger!” He yelled.

The noise died down to a dull roar, the supernatural eyes of the room glowing with something other than anger for the first time that night.

Derek was furious. What the hell did this interloper think, coming into his den with that accursed object that had literally taken the love of his life from him. He didn’t care if the witches had screwed up their little ritual, it didn’t make a lick of difference to the body still lying on the table below him.

“You had better reach a point soon.” He snarled out, barely restraining his instincts. It was only years of practice at controlling his inner wolf that kept Derek from letting it free, consequences be damned.

“Derek, this isn’t the right dagger to conduct that kind of magical power transfer. It’s not a power focus, it was designed for trickery, not theft. This dagger was spelled to create death where there is none. It was used to foil assassination plots and silence witnesses.”

Derek just stared, aware of how his betas were moving about the room, subconsciously closing rank around Deaton, cutting off his exits.

“It’s meant to emulate death, not cause it.” Deaton finally exclaimed, eyes darting around the encroaching pack, his heart beating a temptingly erratic rhythm to the wolves’ ears.

A small, secret place in his cold heart suddenly burst into light. First a flicker, and then a raging firestorm as Deaton’s words finally began to sink in.

“Fake death?” Derek asked, the growl that had been in his chest since setting eyes on Deaton finally quieting.

“Yes. It is my understanding that this dagger causes people to fall into a death-like sleep. Normally, when the dagger is removed, the supposed victim is revived.”

Derek couldn’t help the automatic way his eyes glanced down at Stiles. Pulling one hand from where it had been stuck in the wooden table, he carefully traced Stiles’ cheek, mindful of his claws.

“Why hasn’t he revived, then?” Derek asked softly, staring at the lax face. Stiles’ skin was paler than usual, his moles standing out in stark contrast. Pushing his hair gently back from his face, Derek felt the ache in his chest throb painfully.

“The dagger appears to be broken.” Deaton seemed to shake himself and relax slightly, now that he didn’t have a wolf pack gunning for his blood he gained back some of his usual confidence. He held up the dagger once more, and Derek managed to force down his instincts as Deaton pointed to the tip which did, in fact, appear to have broken off.

“I believe that when it entered the rib cage, part of it may have chipped off on a bone. If we can complete the dagger once more, then the death sleep enchantment will be broken.”

Derek stared at Stiles’ face, beautiful and somehow peaceful even now.

“Derek,” Deaton’s voice cut into his thoughts. “You need to trust me. Just for the next few minutes, I need for you to trust that I am trying to save Stiles’ life. I don’t know how long he can stay like this before it’s irreversible.”

Derek looked at the man he could vaguely recall from childhood, standing off to the side of his mother’s pack and advising her on all manner of things. Deaton might not be the most forthcoming with information, but he did occasionally try to help.

Looking back at Stiles, he spared a moment to brush the back of his fingers against a smooth cheek.

It wasn’t like there was anything left to lose if this didn’t work.

Placing his hands back on the tabletop, he sunk his claws into the wooden surface to anchor himself and took a deep breath.

“Boyd, Scott, Jackson,” he got the words out around his fangs. “Hold me still. I won’t be able to not interfere.” The betas moved towards him, their scents grave but determined, the sweet hint of hope barely peeking through. He felt their own clawed hands wrap around various parts of him, grips firm and strong. The rest of the pack moved in closer, their trust in his decision giving him the strength he needed to see this through.

Derek took one last deep breath before he nodded slightly, the only indication he could offer that he was ready for whatever Deaton had planned.

The man didn’t waste any time and swiftly brought the dagger up high over his head. He thrust it down swiftly in one smooth movement, aim precise as the steel split open the ugly wound Stiles had already sustained above his heart.

The room exploded into the sounds of snarls and growls from the pack, yells from the humans, and Derek’s own furious roar. His claws scraped against the tabletop, deep groves joining the already present claw marks. Instinctively, Derek moved to push Deaton away, to protect what was left of his mate, but strong hands held him back. He felt the sting of claws slicing into his skin where he pulled against his betas, but he didn’t care.

Deaton didn’t seem to pay Derek or his pack any attention as he, just as quickly, wrenched the dagger from Stiles’ chest and stumbled a few steps back.

As the pointy, blood coated tip slipped from Stiles’ flesh, a light pulsed through the room and warmth engulfed the pack bond. Each pack mate felt something settle within their chest and their hearts felt lighter.

Derek’s knees threatened to collapse beneath him as the most beautiful sound thudded into existence. He watched with stinging eyes as the body on the table took in a sudden, heaving breath. Coughing soon followed and Stiles instinctively turned, curling his body towards the pack, towards Derek, as he tried to breathe properly once more.

Derek stood frozen as he watched Stiles, not even noticing when the hands that had been gripping him so tightly they’d left temporary bruises and claw marks stained red, went lax and fell away from him.

Finally, after his breathing had returned to something more normal, Stiles let out a low groan and his whisky coloured eyes slid open. Looking around in confusion, it was as if he’d merely woken from a too long nap.

“Wha-?” Stiles’ voice was scratchy, but Derek didn’t care, his wolf and human sides desiring only to touch his mate, to reassure himself that he was alive. Wrapping his arms around him, Derek pulled Stiles to his chest, burying his nose behind his ear and inhaling his scent as deeply as his lungs allowed.

To think he had almost lost this, that he could have spent the rest of his miserable life without ever embracing Stiles again.

The sound of a clearing throat broke through the moment and Derek couldn’t even find it in himself to growl at the vet, he was too thankful for the miracle he held within his arms.

“I believe I should check Mr Stilinski’s wound.” Deaton said, voice lacking any sort of inflection as usual.

“I’m wounded?” Stiles flailed slightly, sounding surprised.

Derek only managed to force himself to half release Stiles. His mate was able to turn around from where he still sat upon the tabletop, Derek’s arms a tight band around his waist. Derek pressed his chest to Stiles’ back as Deaton poked and prodded at the wound. Although there was a lot of blood on Stiles’ chest – both human and rabbit – the wound itself had healed already to a pink scar, as if it had been months and not minutes since it had occurred.

Derek knew that scar was going to serve as a reminder of how close he had come to losing his mate for the rest of his life.

Deaton briefly explained what had happened to a bewildered Stiles before announcing him to be out of any danger and, retrieving the dagger from where it had fallen to the floor, whole once more, the vet left the den. Derek just hoped he'd never see the cursed thing again.

Seeing the haggard and longing looks on his betas faces, Derek prevented any immediate pouncing on Stiles by asking them to gather all the blankets and pillows in the house into a nest before the TV. A few of them looked rebellious for a moment, but did as they were bid with no complaint.

Pulling Stiles so that he was adjacent to him, Derek slid an arm under his knees and easily lifted him off the kitchen table. He carried the boy upstairs to his private bathroom despite the exasperated look Stiles shot him. He didn’t care if Stiles thought carrying him was unnecessary, Derek couldn’t have let go of him at that moment for all the mountain ash in the world.

Once they reached the tiled room, it was almost painful to deposit Stiles on the lip of the bathtub, his hands running down Stiles’ arms unconsciously, before he turned on the taps and the water began to fill the porcelain.

“You don’t have to do that, I can just jump in the shower and get rid of all this dirt and, ugh, look at all this blood.” He pulled a face as he examined his chest.

Derek couldn’t keep the embarrassingly needy whine from escaping him at the thought of leaving Stiles alone for as long as it took for a shower. Stiles gave him a surprised look, before a familiar thoughtful frown crossed his face, the one he wore when he was trying to puzzle out wolfy behaviour.

“Or not?” Stiles raised an eyebrow before sighing and reaching for Derek.

A warm, familiar hand cupped his cheek, and Stiles pressed their foreheads together, breath mingling between them.

“Okay, it’s okay. We can take this slow. Just… turn your back while I get into the water, okay? You can stay in the room, but I expect you to be a gentleman wolf about it.” He brushed their noses together in an Eskimo kiss before pulling back with a gentle smile.

As usual, Stiles had been able to read Derek like his favourite childhood book. It would never cease to amaze him how easily Stiles accepted the wolfy needs of the pack, despite having none of the instincts to guide him. Derek’s wolf whined with longing in the back of his head.

Reaching into the small cabinet above the sink, Derek pulled out the bath salts Erica favoured and had gifted each of the wolves last Christmas, the scent gentle on their sensitive noses and nourishing to their skin – apparently. He dumped half the packet into the water, the clear liquid instantly turning a murky white and filling the room with a subtle lemon scent.

Stiles made a pleased noise and Derek obediently turned his back, listening to the sound of a zipper lowering and Stiles’ jeans hitting the floor. A low, pained hiss almost made him turn around, but Stiles placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder before the sound of him stepping into the bath reached his ears.

Derek waited until Stiles shut off the water and settled before he turned back around. His mouth dried at the sight of his mate in the water, damp up to the middle of his chest. Stiles cupped his hands to rain water down his shoulders, rubbing at the dirt and blood.

“Help me with my hair, would you?” He asked, glancing up at Derek with that same gentle smile.

Wordlessly, Derek fetched his own shampoo and conditioner from the shower cubical and knelt beside the porcelain tub. He eased Stiles back carefully and mimicked his motions of cupping his hands together to lift water to the dirty brown mess atop his head. Repeating the action until he was sure it was sufficiently wet, Derek quickly set about rubbing in the cleaning liquid, the familiar scent filling the room.

Stiles remained still for him as he washed his hair, head tilted back and vulnerable throat on display for Derek and Derek alone. It was ridiculously erotic and if it was any other situation, one that didn’t involve having just spent however long that night thinking he’d lost Stiles forever, Derek would have been sorely tempted to give in to his desire to bite at the pale skin and claim Stiles as his own to the world.

As it was, Derek silently continued with his washing, being careful when he rinsed out the shampoo to cup his hand around the crown of Stiles’ head to prevent any bubbles from getting into his eyes.

When Derek had finally finished, he let his arms cross on the lip of the tub before resting his chin on top, allowing himself a moment to drink Stiles in with his eyes. Not even the cold of the tiles beneath his folded legs could distract him in that moment. His mate was beautiful, soft skin lightly spotted with moles, hair wet already beginning to curl slightly around the nape of his neck. The juxtaposition of his vulnerable, naked skin with the inner strength Derek knew Stiles possessed was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. 

Stiles finished washing the rest of himself quickly, not seeming to be bothered with the alpha watching him.

When he was done, he looked back at Derek and smiled almost sadly. Lifting his hand from the water, he ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, neither caring about the damp trails he left behind.

“I’m okay. You’re okay. The pack’s okay.” He said softly, once more bringing his face close to Derek’s own.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Derek whispered, voice so quite it didn’t even echo in the tiled room.

“I’m right here.” Stiles whispered back, words sounding like a promise, before soft lips pressed against his own.

Derek didn’t think, just allowed his instincts to take over as he wrapped his arms around Stiles, uncaring that he was soaking his shirt by pressing their chests together. Stiles, in turn, wrapped an arm around Derek’s shoulders, his other hand staying firmly in Derek’s hair.

The kiss was sweet and held an innocence Derek hadn’t thought himself capable of after the life he had led, all that he’d seen and done. It didn’t last very long, before Derek pulled back and pressed his nose to Stiles’ throat, scenting the familiar pack smell of lemon, his own shampoo and the natural scent of Stiles himself.

They stayed still for a moment more before Stiles gently tugged at Derek’s hair, and the alpha reluctantly pulled away from him.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs and join the rest of the pack.” Stiles grinned at him, before twirling a finger around between them. “Turn around, gentleman wolf.” He teased.

Derek sorted despite himself, but stood and turned his back as his mate climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around himself.

“I don’t suppose I can borrow something to wear?” Stiles asked, once he’d pulled the plug and the water had washed down the drain.

Derek merely nodded, glancing back at him before leading the way into his bedroom. He went straight for some sweatpants and pulled a grey henley from a draw, setting them on his bed before he turned to find Stiles standing in the connecting doorway between the ensuite and bedroom, a slight frown on his face as he tentatively put his weight on his right foot before pulling a face and raising it off the ground again.

“What is it?” Derek stepped closer.

“I think I whacked it against something. It only feels like a light sprain though, should be fine with a good night’s sleep.” Stiles said, mostly to his foot as he once more tried to put weight on it.

Derek huffed as he moved to Stiles’ side and helped him over to the bed, making sure he was stable before turning his back on him and riffling through his draws to pull out a white henley which he quickly swapped with his damp and dirty one. A wet towel dumped over his head announced Stiles was finished dressing and Derek couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed, he simply draped the towel over the ensuite door handle so it could dry before he swept Stiles back into his arms.

Now clean and smelling strongly of pack, of _his_ , Derek rubbed a bearded cheek against Stiles’ smooth one before ducking in for his own Eskimo kiss to Stiles’ nose. An almost indulgent smile was on Stiles’ face when he pulled back, and the slight pinking of his cheek where Derek had scented it was enough encouragement for him to do the same to the other side.

Feeling calm at last, Derek carried his injured mate back down stairs, pausing for a moment on the bottom step as he took in the scene. The pups were restlessly awaiting their return, and Derek felt proud of them when he looked at the comfortable nest of pillows and blankets they’d made before the TV. A selection of snack foods had been placed on the small coffee table they’d pushed to the side of the couch in order to make room for the blankets and pillows, and the TV screen already had the display menu of some movie that bathed the room in a soft, blue glow.

Stiles ran a hand down Derek’s back and the alpha carefully manoeuvred him so that his feet could touch the ground once more. Casting the pups a look clearly telling them to be careful with his mate, Stiles happily opened his arms invitingly.

They descended like a pack of wolves on him, hands brushing over him and scenting while faces snuggled into any available patch of skin. Derek allowed them to go at it for ten minutes, a constant stream of touching and scenting right there at the bottom of the stairs, until he let out a chastising growl that caused the wolves to scamper back with playful growls. An almost hysterical laughter built up between them as the pack became drunk off the relief of having their pack mate safe and whole with them once more.

Derek stepped down to Stiles’ side, an arm slipping possessively around his middle and gently helped him over to the comfy pile on the floor. Nudging a few pillows with his foot until his inner wolf was pleased with the arrangement, Derek got Stiles settled into the middle and softest area of the pile. Lying down next to him and wrapping his arms securely around his mate, Stiles ended up half on top of the alpha.

Stiles didn’t question his actions, allowing him to move them about until they were both comfortable and Derek was satisfied with their positioning. Finally, Derek let out a small chuff that signalled for the rest of the pack to join them, small playful growls breaking out between who got to snuggle up closest to Stiles.

Derek didn’t even complain when he ended up with more than one pack mate lying across him in order to be near his mate. Stiles merely used his free hands to rub along any area of bare skin available to him, but Derek smugly noted that he didn’t try to pull away from him.

Closing his eyes to whatever movie began to play on the screen before them, Derek tucked his face into the soft skin under Stiles’ chin and breathed in his scent, alive and content in the middle of a puppy pile in their den.

Halfway through the movie he felt Stiles shift slightly, a cheek dragging across his own hair in a mimicry of the way the wolves scented one another. A hand not still petting the pups came up and rested gently on Derek, cupping the exposed area of his neck protectively. Derek felt himself sag into the pillows and blankets slightly, the last of the tension in his muscles finally melting away.

There would be time tomorrow to hunt down the witches, to talk to Stiles about what had happened to him and what all this meant, to find a new fucking kitchen table that didn’t have deep groves from Derek’s claws or smell of death and blood. For now, all Derek wanted to do was sink into the warmth and comfort of his pack and mate.

*

Derek was roused the next morning by the sound of his mobile ringing. He grunted, reluctant to move from the cocoon of warmth surrounding him.

A familiar hand slid down his chest and boldly dipped into the pocket of his jeans, pulling the slim device out into the open. There was a pause before he felt Stiles shift on his chest, their positions having reversed some time during the night, and Derek breathed in Stiles’ scent deeply from where his hair tickled his nose.

“Hello?” Stiles’ voice was sleep rough, and Derek tightened his arm around him happily.

“Stiles?” The voice of the Sheriff sounded through the tiny speaker.

“Hey, dad.”

“What are you-” the man started, only to stop and let out a small snort. “Actually, I don’t want to know.”

“Puppy piles, dad. Not what you’re thinking.” Stiles actually sounded amused, but Derek was distracted by the clever fingers that slid beneath his henley and began to rub backwards and forwards against his hip bone.

“Sure.” John didn’t sound the least bit convinced.

“What were you ringing Derek for, anyway?” Stiles redirected the conversation.

“Oh, right. I wanted to let him and the rest of the pack know, we picked up three women with unlicensed hunting equipment in the bed of their truck this morning.”

That woke Derek up completely and he couldn’t help but sit up, snatching the phone from a protesting Stiles.

“Three women?” He asked, voice low.

“Yes,” John didn’t miss a beat. “That tip about the poaching in the area really paid off. They also had a few carcasses and stripped pelts bundled up in the back. Normally, that’d just be a fine or a few months in jail, but when we rain their details, well.” John suddenly sounded incredibly smug and Derek supressed his knee-jerk annoyance at the idea of those witches only getting a slap on the wrist.

“They’re apparently wanted in a few states; poaching, satanic rituals, minor B&E as well as assault charges to name a few. I’m sure they won’t be bothering anyone in Beacon Hills for a long time once the brass gets through with them.”

“Good.” Derek sighed, relaxing once more. While he would have preferred to rip them limb from limb, this was certainly a more legal way of getting rid of the problem.

“By the way,” John said suddenly, causing Derek to tense again.

“Do you happen to know why I’ve got Mr Happinez ringing to tell me Stiles’ Jeep is sitting in the middle of Penton Street like it’s been abandoned?”

Derek internally groaned, he’d completely forgotten all about that.

Stiles snatched the phone from him, already babbling some excuse and promising to go and pick it up soon. Derek supposed they should be grateful that Penton Street was mostly out of the way of Beacon Hills residents and unlikely to cause any traffic delays.

The Sheriff sounded slightly suspicious, but was appeased for now and quickly ended the call. Stiles chucked the phone onto the bare couch behind them as the pups began to wake up. He knew he’d have to go and see the Sheriff before the witches were moved along to have a not so subtle conversation about making an example of them to other would-be hunters. That if they were ever seen in Beacon Hills again there would be no telling what would happen if one of the pack stumbled across them.

But, that was something he’d do later, he thought as he laid back again, Stiles snuggling into his chest once more and rubbed his cheek against the thin material in an entirely too wolfish manner for a human. Letting out an amused growl, Derek returned the gesture with his hands, sweeping them up and down Stiles’ back.

He felt Stiles sigh happily against him, his scent content, before the moment was broken.

“And you thought there was no way looking for poaches would work.” He sounded a trifle smug.

Given recent events, Derek didn’t quite feel up to thinking about what had happened the night before, so left Stiles to be pleased with himself.

“I’m hungry.” Scott yawned loudly, the back of his mouth on display before Lydia threw a pillow at him, snapping at him to cover his mouth, he was supposed to be house broken.

Stiles snickered, tucking his face into Derek’s chest as if to hide it, before he pushed himself up so that Derek could look him in the eyes. Something passed over Stiles’ face before he leaned down and nudged his nose against Derek’s like he had done the previous night. Looking pleased with himself, he pulled back so only their breath touched.

“We’ll talk later, yeah?” He asked softly, seemingly completely oblivious to the pillow fight that had commenced behind him as more of the pack awoke.

Derek smiled slightly in agreement and Stiles began to push himself to his feet. He watched as his mate tentatively put weight on his injured foot before appearing satisfied that it had healed enough not to bother him anymore.

“Good. Now, get up and make me some coffee and I promise to make eggs with butter, just the way you like them.” He sent the alpha a wink before a pillow smacked him upside the head.

Derek snorted before getting to his feet himself, a warm feeling in his gut as Stiles ordered around his pack and made them pack up the nest and begin helping him with breakfast, a special order for Erica to go and retrieve his Jeep was issued as she’d been the one to hit him with the pillow.

The pack bond was almost humming as Derek observed his mate in the kitchen, already armed with a saucepan and two cartons of eggs that he balanced precariously within his arms.

Derek couldn’t have suppressed the smile if he’d tried.

 

 

.


End file.
